Only One Left
by Elfgirloflorien
Summary: Gilraen. wife of a dead chieftain of the Dunedain. mother of a young son who is the only hope for mankind, as the last descendant of Isildur's line. What did she do with all the tragedies that fall into her life? Third short story added!
1. Our Last Hope

_This story is dedicated to a friend, whose dad just died a few days ago. Yes, I know Ribbons, its more angst. Sorry. _

Aragorn was only two years old when the twins came back to camp with Arathorn on an improvised sled of boughs. Gilraen took only one look at the sleigh and fled back into the hut without a word. She scooped the little Aragorn out of the dust and held him while the tears began to flow.

Aragorn did not know what had happened, but he knew his mother hardly ever cried. The last time she had was when Halbarad brought the news of another burnt village, presumably plundered by orcs. This had been over two months ago. He snuggled against her shoulder and in soft baby-talk noises, tried to comfort her. The only three words he knew were _mama_, _dada_, and _sword_, which he pronounced something like "swaade." Gilraen could hear his soft gabble, but every time he said _dada_ she began to sob again.

"Aragorn, my child, your dada…" here she gave into sobs once more. Once the sobs left her, she pulled herself together and resolved to push through to the end.

"Your father, Arathorn, has fallen. He was out hunting with your uncles, Elladan and Elrohir, and was shot by an orc. He's dead, Aragorn! Dead!" The two-year-old Aragorn could not realize the significance of the word. Nonetheless, he knew something about dada was upsetting his mother, so he stopped talking. Gilraen did not notice the change. Once she had begun, she must finish.

"Why would Eru take him from me to Mandos' halls, in the prime of his years? He was hardly sixty when he fell! I know my father Dirhael warned me he would be short-lived, but this short? Only four swift years I have had with him! And Aragorn, you are deprived of a father so soon! You have only known to say _dada_ for a month yet! Oh Ivorwen, Dirhael, why did you not warn me not to love him in the beginning! Why not keep me from marrying him the first place! Ai Eru, why? Why so soon? Why now, when the Enemy is ever moving closer? Why?

Gilraen could speak no longer. The sobs overcame her, and she wept long and tumultuously. No one came to comfort her, to hold her and to wipe away her tears. They must have all abandoned her to her sorrow.

"Oh Aragorn, whatever am I to do with you? We cannot stay here, unprotected by your father, no longer chief of the tribe! They will want this hut soon for the new chief, and we will have to go. Why would they trust an outsider, indeed? They might keep me for the sake of you, my child, but what could I do? They would not need me! Ai! Arathorn, if only you had never left with the twins the last time! If only you did not find so much joy in the battlefield! Then, perhaps, we might still spend a few years together, before the final battle of the race of men you spoke of so much!"

Aragorn apparently decided his mother had been crying far too long. Making little cooing noises, he climbed up on the bed and began to pet her hair. It was his own little way of comforting her. Gilraen almost laughed through her tears, but instead choked. Drawing him close beside her, she kissed the top of his head.

"So now I know, little one, what hope I have left? You will be my comfort, will you not? We can run from here, and go to Elrond the Half-elven's house; he will receive you well. It was always the customary resting place of the heirs of Isildur. Ai! Eru, you take who you must, and no one should question your will, but what grace is left to me, protect him with it. For you, little Aragorn, are our only hope for the last battle of men against the Dark Lord. Be well, my little Hope! I am comforted."

Sighing deeply, she placed Aragorn on the floor and, composing herself, walked outside to face the preparations for the burial of her husband.


	2. The Leavetaking

Gilraen stood on the balcony, the wind playing in her hair and teasing at her dress; she took no notice. She was lost to the world and all in it, but to an observer it might seem her eyes were fixed on a small boy, playing on the grass below the balcony by himself. The boy was oblivious of the woman's gaze, for he was busily digging a hole that someone told him would lead to buried treasure. His caretakers had evidently run out of other entertainments.

All this Gilraen saw, and yet she did not, for her mind was far away and the rest of her seemed like to follow it there. She was once again debating what she should do.

_The child is safe. Elrond will care for him here, as he has protected many other Heirs of Isildur. Elrond's sons will watch over the boy, for they were great friends of Arathorn's, and for his sake I think they will do much. My little boy is safe here, safer then at the Village of the Edain. I have fulfilled my last promise to Arathorn. He will grow up safe, free from harm and war, under the protection of Rivendell. And now that this promise is fulfilled, I come to the choice: am I really needed here any longer? there are plenty of elves to take care of my son, Elrond to father him, the twins to be his brothers. What need could he have of one lonely mother? He has mostly forgotten me already in this place. See how he does not look up at me as he digs away so busily? and I could be doing so much more in the world outside. I could go back to our village, help with the war, help the new chieftain to adjust to the duties of Arathorn. it would be a noble task, unlike sitting here watching a boy grow to manhood! These three months in Rivendell have seemed an age! I will leave and do much more!_

Turning, Gilraen strode away from the balcony, convinced that her purpose was noble and she was not needed there. But as she ran away from Estel, he turned and looked up at her one last time. The pleading in his eyes would have broken any resolve, however firm. But Gilraen never turned to look back as she fled her son. She left in a week, and for many long days afterward, Estel sat only under the balcony and stared out into space.


	3. At the Last

_A/N: this story won second place at Tolkien's realm on Livejournal in the fanfic prompt contest, Peace._

She watched as her son rode away for the last time.

The twilight was calm, cool with wetness after a short shower of rain. She had not asked him to stay till the morning, though the words had been heavy on her lips. It was his destiny to leave, hers to stay, and she should not delay it by a few hours, though her heart willed her to speak the words and stay his ride.

He did not turn around to wave goodbye.

Perhaps it was better this way. The parting, swift, brief, sharp with its' own agony, but soon passing into the mists of time. It was already hard enough on him, for with perhaps a glimpse of the farsight that told her the same thing, he had seen they would not meet again. If she had but spoken a word, he would have gladly stayed. But she had not spoken those words, which were against all fate, against all the hope she had laid up during all the long years without her husband by her side.

The hoofbeats along the path were growing fainter.

This doom had been given her from the first, she knew. From the time she put her hand into her husband's at marriage, this final act was fated. She had walked through all these years with a steady grip on life, through the tragedies that strew her path, with only one single goal: to bring her son up. To that fate she had walked with a sure tread, seeing only the line in front of her.

And now that was completed. Her doom was finished. The fate was sealed. She would not see her son again. Her role in the drama of life was ended, for now and forever. All the control, all the preparation she had built up to, was over.

He was nearly out of sight along the shadowy path.

She felt no despair. No grief. No anger, that her role in history was finished. She had worked all her life for others, now she had the only thing she desired for herself. A quiet, gentle death, peace in knowing her life was completed, and that whatever happened next, for good or ill, would not concern her. At the last, she had what she wished.

Her son passed out of her sight along the darkening path through the wood. And as the light faded, she remembered the last thing she had said to him, before he left, before her task was fulfilled.

_Onen i-Estel Edain, ú-chebin estel anim._


End file.
